Bowie Greene watched the small smooth-skinned creature slither behind the rock formation like a furtive whisper. Despite the arid conditions, the area was strikingly fertile. Low-lying gorse edged the rough mountain paths, rising almost to touch the self-seeded wild flowers spilling from crevices. Still hunkered after checking his boot laces,
cloud-free July sky, a fusion of blues streaked with the white vapour trails of military jets. Like an abstract painting. He sniffed the air
and inhaled the minty freshness of his surroundings before springing to his
feet. Hitching his rifle he plodded on, determined to overcome his fear. Bowie
The stony path zigzagged upwards for a hundred yards before changing its gradient. Running his hand around his neck to wipe away a gathering of sweat, Bowie braced himself for the ascent. He’d done this trek a thousand times. Knew every undulation, boulder, blade of grass. Long ago, when youth and health went hand in hand, he’d even done it blindfolded for a bet. But in all these years he’d never made it to the top. No climber ever had. It was known locally as a mountain because of the climbing involved, incredibly steep in parts. From the ground the apex looked as if someone had given it a blonde wig. No-one had yet discovered what was up there to give it that appearance.
Gripping an arching slab, Bowie swung his body to a higher level. The rock was more angular, jutting cruelly towards his shin. His breathing quickened as he tried to dispel a straight-jacket sense of unease. He had reached the spot where once he’d taken ill. The fear of what can happen on
still haunted him. Remembering Blonde Mountain Bernadette’s
taunt, he pressed on. Driving his boots hard into the ground, he mustered every
ounce of willpower and forced himself to pass the man-sized column of rock
known to regular climbers as Ugly. The precise site of the heart attack.
It was a Wednesday when it happened, Bernadette’s birthday. He was hurrying. On that occasion he’d been content just to climb, leaving behind his ambition. He reasoned that he could do it and take the commissioned photographs in plenty of time … and would have if the weather had stayed calm.
He remembered shrugging off the discomfort in his arm, concentrating his mind on his wife. She had been fraught for weeks over the shop; it was only fair to give her more of his time. He and
Jamie had planned to take her out to dinner. Going up
had been a mistake given the
circumstances, but he wasn’t to know that at the time. When the pain worsened
he had stopped near Blonde Mountain ’s
Dike to swallow a couple of painkillers and then advanced towards Ugly. Dixon
The final blow came shortly afterwards, half way to Ugly, wedged in a crevice where he’d paused to adjust his thinking. Should he go back or carry on? How much more would
Bernadette take of his wild
craving to reach the summit? The kick came right at that point. Knocked him sideways.
He’d fallen 200 yards, crashing against the rock face, bouncing, until he landed
on a ledge. And blacked out.
The rescue team found him. Surgeons saved his leg and treated his heart condition. They said he was a lucky man.
knew he was, he was grateful,
yet still the zenith of Bowie claimed his
attention. Like most climbers he wouldn’t rest until he achieved his goal. So
many times he had almost made it; so many times he’d failed. Blonde
Bowie feared losing Bernadette but pigheadedness overruled all emotion. Now he wondered what had possessed him to come up here. To escape his wife’s accusations or to prove her wrong? Ever since the outburst a week ago, when she fiercely charged him with having no spunk, his morale had been crushed. The only remedy had been to climb, to prove that he was still good at it.
thought the deal with the magazine was the main incentive but to the
second photographic commission was merely an excuse. He would climb into the
clouds to achieve personal fulfilment. Bowie
The route now was straightforward.
a plateau that enabled him to rest. He leaned against rock and looked out. He
could see the village, a simple speck on a map of green fields. Unstrapping his
back pack he removed the rifle and maneuvered the pack so that he could reach
the camera and binoculars. As he did so he felt tingling in his stomach.
Nerves! Suddenly alert, he twisted on his heel, aiming the rifle as he spun
round. He stared at the rock. Nothing there, yet he could have sworn he heard
stealthy shuffling. Bowie
Unexpectedly nervous, sensing something was close by, he tightened his grip on the gun. Shivered, yet there was sweat on his face. Slowly, he turned. Saw the dog. It was like no dog
seen. Huge head, long body, stumpy tail. Unusual colouring; an indeterminate
shade that reminded Bowie
of wallpaper paste. Round his neck was a black band of dark fur that resembled a
collar. Even as Bowie
watched the creature disappeared, seeming to slither rather than run round the
rock formation. Bowie
lowered the rifle, wondering if this was the fabled animal climbers talked
about. It was always referred to in local pubs as the Blonde dog. Some said it
was the keeper of the mountain. Bowie had laughed at the idiocy of
such a theory. However, if what he witnessed was not a familiar four-legged
breed of domesticated pet then the whole episode must have been a mirage. A hallucination! Bowie
After taking a batch of photographs,
the equipment, adjusted the climbing ropes, and moved on. An unexpected
gloominess had settled upon him, a cloud formation that he didn’t like
obliterated the sun. He once told Bowie Jamie
that when clouds came the rock face lost its friendliness. His son had laughed, unable to understand
that rock could be friendly. He moved slowly, hesitantly, remembering the
weather change he’d experienced before. That almost fatal day! Ahead he saw something glide round a rock. An
impression rather than a sighting but he knew it was the creature he had seen
before. Probably didn’t like the wind that was getting up.
When it came the rain was like a deluge, stinging
face, the sharpness causing him to close his eyes. He struggled to adjust his
helmet, pull the side flaps over his years, returned the goggles to his eyes. He
hated both. It killed the freedom of a climb but he recognized the merit in
taking safety precautions. He wasn’t a fair weather climber. It would take the
hand of God to stop him climbing in a storm. Bowie
The dog reappeared and stayed in front of him. His coat was like a beacon in the growing murk.
made no attempt to catch him
up. The short distance between them was somehow comforting as if the dog was
measuring the route in stages. At the end of this section Bowie would climb
again. The thought made him feel exhilarated. At one point the animal paused,
turned his head to look at Bowie , and snarled. A deep rumbling
sound that echoed against the rock. Bowie
‘It’s okay, Blonde,’ said
, thinking it
was up to him to soothe the dog’s trepidation.
The dog trotted forward. Bowie wondered why he had called
him Blonde since he wasn’t convinced that climbers’ tales had any foundation. The
dog seemed stronger somehow, his carriage more assured. Dominant! It struck Bowie
that the dog thought he’d taken over. Bowie
The weather worsened. Rain sliced through the air, the wind driving it full force.
was unsure of his footing. His
boots slid instead of holding him firm and his hands were icy cold. There were
better gloves in his pack but he had no time to get them out. The dog, though
still ahead, stood perfectly still as if on guard. ‘What shall I do, Blonde,’ asked
moving tentatively along the narrow ledge towards the dog. He wasn’t quite
prepared to fight his way down. The dog
lay down in Bowie ’s
path, preventing another move forward. He looked at Bowie with
unflinching eyes that were like small fires. Daring him to move! Bits of rock shifted
beneath Bowie ’s
boots, tumbled off the ledge into the whirling space that an hour ago had been
so tranquil. Behind the dog a boulder became dislodged and hurtled towards home
base. It was as well he’d stopped at that point. Bowie began to feel scared,
hoping his heart would hold out if conditions deteriorated even more. Bowie
The dog eased himself onto all fours, growled twice, inclining his great head as if indicating that Bowie should follow. Bowie did. He inched after the animal, exercising caution as he circumnavigated a rocky projection. His feet felt heavy. He could barely feel his hands. He longed for a cigarette and remembered what it was that made him pack up. It was a Wednesday,
Rounding the projection, he suddenly stopped. In front of him was the huge mouth of a cave. The dog sat at one side of the entrance like a guard dog. Ignoring the attacking rain,
stood open-mouthed and stared. In all the years he’d climbed the mountain he had never before seen a cave. The dog walked in a little way, stopped, looked at Bowie
as if urging him to follow. Bowie
It was a typical cave, small and dry, enough room for
to lie down if required. Initials and messages were scratched on the grimy walls.
squatted on the floor and shrugged off his pack. A message near where he laid
the gun was ‘next time will bring medal for the damn dog.’ Bowie looked at
the animal for inspiration about why he needed a medal. The animal’s long body
filled the width of the entrance as he lay there looking out at the teeming
rain, head on one side, an ear raised like he was listening for something. Bowie
called him, tried to make friends. The dog resisted all sound, stayed still as
a statue, listening and looking out. Bowie
The noise of the rock fall was colossal, vibrations so fierce
whole mountain was collapsing. He dug his heels into the ground, tensed his
body against the cave wall, too scared to think about anything except how the
hell he was going to survive. He prayed like he’d never prayed before, wishing
he’d heeded Bowie Bernadette’s advice. He
didn’t know if he’d even see her again. The tears were hot in his eyes, sobs
rose, bursting wretchedly from him, adding weight to alarm. If only he’d stayed
home where he belonged.
The dog nudged his head under
Seeking comfort? Oh my god, thought Bowie , the dog needs saving as
well. Moving his head up to Bowie ’s face, the animal licked his
threw his arms around his neck and hugged him hard. ‘It’s okay, buddy,’ he
whispered. ‘I’ll save you.’ Bowie
They sat there, man and dog, waiting for conditions to steady. The rain was abating and
could have sworn he saw a
flash of light on the rock. He was afraid to look outside, afraid at what he
might see. Blonde began to fidget, rose leisurely and went to the entrance.
Looked out, turned back and barked at Bowie . As he crawled to join him, Bowie
could have sworn there was a smile on his face.
Looking out, seeing the blue sky
have guessed he’d been caught in such a violent storm. Still on his knees he
moved further out, saw the damage done to his beloved mountain. His elation
quickly disappeared when he saw that the whole of the route he had taken had
gone. Not a ledge was left to walk
on. ‘What do I do now, Buddy?’ Bowie
The dog wagged his short tail, moved to join
outside. He barked once and trotted off to the right. Came back, looked at Bowie ,
barked again, and trotted off. To the right. Bowie
Realising he should follow,
for his pack and rifle, then stepped out to join the waiting dog. They were on
a well worn trail with just enough width for a single person to walk, hitherto
unseen by Bowie Bowie who thought he knew everything about
the mountain. He followed the dog. The downhill walk was easy, patches of
soaked grass already steaming in the sun.
Occasionally the animal turned to check that was still
kept checking the way they’d come, seeing the split in the mountain where the
rocks had come loose, knowing that he could have been killed. Silently he
thanked the Lord for giving him another chance of life. Bowie
As he trudged behind Blonde,
the etchings on the wall of the cave, and the one that read: next time will
bring medal for the damn dog. The damn dog that had saved Bowie ’s life and
probably the lives of many others. He wondered how he’d never heard of the
animal’s lifesaving activities before. And what was that he’d said: that only
the hand of God would stop him climbing in a storm. Bowie
‘Hey, Buddy,’ ‘he called. ‘You’re not God are you?
But the animal had vanished, seemingly into thin air.